


Foucault's Pendulum

by DrNeverland



Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anachronistic, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Bruises, Edwardian Period, Face Slapping, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, No Underage Sex, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, References to Addiction, Scars, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrNeverland/pseuds/DrNeverland
Summary: Booker DeWitt only has so many places he can go to get a drink. Sometimes, he hooks up...





	1. Ludus

-New York City: 1894-

Smoky, hazy, crowded by men, incognito or otherwise, the patrons went mostly by the name of “John,” if anyone asked. Alcohol flowed for a price, but only enough to lower inhibitions. A joint like this could not afford the cops coming in to break up a drunken brawl. A lot more was at stake there than just a few broken glasses. _Ganymede’s Cup_ was the only pub where the establishment owner had not banned Booker DeWitt from the premises for an outstanding tab.

Booker had found the place entirely by accident. Only an hour into his drinking at another location, the owner had called on his bill while he was in the middle of a glass of whiskey. Thrown out for lack of payment, Booker had turned down a different path toward his apartment when he had stumbled upon _Ganymede’s Cup._ It had looked, from the outside, like any other gentlemen’s pub, but it had taken Booker at solid twenty minutes staring at the bar’s tiny stage to realize the “entertainment” was also comprised solely of men. Granted, they had been men in stockings, skirts and makeup, but it eventually dawned on Booker that the pub catered to a certain audience.

Unlike other atmospheres, however, Booker discovered “The Cup” to be ideal in terms of anonymity and quiet. Only the bartender kept a record of names to call in tabs; the gentlemen patrons of the establishment appeared to run the gamut from the wealthy-but-bored young bulls who came in seeking some new thrill, to men like Booker, who wanted a drink with less judgement attached to it than a standard locale would offer. Well… less than what Booker normally received. The patrons there all risked their reputations if caught; it was the lure of such a place, indulgence in another man – or two - that drew an audience.

Tonight, much of that crowd gathered near the small stage - which may as well have been a table nailed under a door parked too high by a shoddy architect - for the lad currently performing. Despite the caked white makeup and the moustache painted over cherry-red lips, the performer, in his tattered corset and pale stockings, reciting some sort of poetry about rabbits could not have been more than 15 or 16 years old. About the same age Booker had been when he enlisted in the U.S. Army.

Booker kept his distance from the group. He had no interest in courting the boy, as perhaps some of the others might. Feverish old men gathered near the boy’s ankles, watching him hop and strut; Booker glanced away from the spectacle and sipped at his whiskey. Resting his back against the bar, Booker kept his eyes moving, avoiding settling too long on any spot in particular. He was not disgusted with the practices going on around him – who was he to judge anyway? – but neither was he a voyeur.

“Seeking a companion? Or does a man like you not need one?”

The nasal voice interrupting Booker’s scan of the room came from his left, but he did not immediately turn to greet the man who leaned in beside him. He had discovered, very shortly after his first visit to “The Cup,” that other men found him rather attractive. In this discovery, Booker had adjusted his own behavior enough to persuade a few free drinks out of an interested party… among a couple other benefits he discovered in the ubiquitous “back rooms” of the pub.

Taking his time in replying to the proffered questions, Booker lifted his whiskey glass slowly, allowing the material of his shirt to pull taut over his arm. He closed his eyes to finish his drink and heard a soft gasp and clearing of the throat belonging to the man beside him. Booker licked his lips and hid his triumphant smirk under a welcoming smile as he regarded his guest.

At some height around Booker’s, the redheaded man beside him was leaner, clean-shaven and smartly dressed; a green carnation was pinned to his lapel. Close in age, maybe, if Booker had to guess at first glance. The stranger had pale, freckled skin drawn over high cheekbones and under heavily lidded blue eyes that darted for a moment to Booker’s throat like a starving dog eyeing meat at the butcher shop window.

“I get by on whoever’s bold enough to approach,” Booker said. “Smoke?” He reached into his waistcoat for his own pack, when the redheaded gentleman produced a gilded cigarette case from his own jacket pocket.

“Allow me,” the man said. He flipped the case open, handed one over to Booker, and then delicately placed one between his own lips.

Mumbling his thanks, Booker held up his battered, brass lighter, flicking the wheel and producing little more than a futile spark. The wick was bone dry, and Booker left without a flame. He looked up when the stranger beside him placed a hand over his, pushing down his useless lighter.

“What-“ Booker inhaled sharply as the redhead moved in close with his own cigarette, lighting both at once off of a match in his other hand. When he moved back again and blew out his first puff of smoke, Booker stared after his companion. “Thanks, mister…?”

Looking down his nose, the redhead took his cigarette away from his mouth, balancing it delicately between his index and middle fingers. “Robert.”

“Robert.” Booker nodded and looked away. He leaned against the bar again; he had felt the slump in his own shoulders when the lighter had refused to do its job, and heat crawled up his neck at the reminder that he had not spared enough money to get the damn thing refilled.

However the brief conversation had begun, it had not deterred Booker’s bar mate. Robert rested his elbow against the bar top, still well within Booker’s personal space. “Are all of you Americans without name, or should I assume your reticence to provide yours comes with a higher price than a cigarette?”

“British,” Booker muttered under his breath. Speaking louder, he turned to “Robert,” once again taking his eyes off the crowd. “Actually, my name is-“

“BISCUIT!”

Booker pinched his eyes shut at the feminine shriek and tensed up when a pair of smaller arms circled his waist, squeezing as hard as physically possible. Opening his eyes again, Booker looked down into the painted face of the boy from the stage, who smiled up at Booker as if the boy had caught him doing something worthy of a scolding.

“I told you, don’t call me that,” Booker grumbled. He swatted back the young man’s headband – frilly lace stretched over the wire form of rabbit ears before they could poke him in the eye. Beside Booker, Robert chuckled in amusement at his distress.

“You told me to not call you ‘my love,’ but I still think of you that way,” said the boy, squeezing Booker’s waist again. “One day, you will be mine… when you’re not cheating on me!” He shot Robert a dirty look; Booker’s head dropped back and he closed his eyes again.

“Sander…” Booker started, moving to detach the young man – Sander – from his waist. He gently pried Sander’s arms apart, but that only served to allow Sander to cling to his chest possessively. “Sander, I’ve told you before, I ain’t interested in you or your weird poetry.”

Sander pouted up at Booker, red painted lip sticking out comically far from his face. “You only say that because you have yet to understand me as an artist. When you truly realize my gifts, Booker, you’ll come _crawling_ to me, begging for forgiveness.” Sander smoothed his hand up Booker’s chest until he could reach his tie, which he then yanked hard enough to pull Booker over. “On that day, I may show you mercy, or remind you of all the times _you’ve spurned me,_ ” Sander growled. “Until then…” Sander released Booker and blew him a kiss, then turned sharply on his heels to greet the avid suitors who lingered close by, waiting for the young man to notice them.

Booker stood up again and massaged the ache from his neck while he watched Sander make a show of picking out a paramour. Once selected from the eager old men, Sander bid the rest adieu, with promises of “perhaps next time.” Arms linked, Sander allowed himself to be led away, up a set of stairs to rooms reserved for private parties.

Robert leaned closer into Booker’s space, enough so that Booker could smell good cologne behind the veil of tobacco smoke between them. “He is rather infatuated with you. Seems as though he would be an easier companion than most would find here. Or is that simply… a career choice for him?”

Booker turned and stiffened his back with Robert’s proximity being closer than ever. “Sander might be a Mary, but the old coot he took with him doesn’t know what he’s in for. Kid has knives in his smile if he has teeth.” He shuffled in the small space and got himself turned around again to face the bartender, signaling for another shot of whiskey. Placing a bill on the bar, Robert picked it up again and tucked it into Booker’s waistcoat breast pocket.

“On me,” Robert offered. He requested a glass of bourbon for himself, his head turned away to ignore Booker’s cocked eyebrow at the request.

“Hope you brought enough, Bobby,” Booker said. If Robert wanted to pick up the tab for him, Booker certainly allowed for another man’s generosity. “I have a high tolerance.”

Robert turned to Booker with their drinks, placing the whiskey in Booker’s hand, and then ghosting his own fingers up the inside of Booker’s wrist. “And what of your stamina?” A catty grin crossed Robert’s lips just before he took a sip of his bourbon, his gaze locked with Booker’s.

Booker felt his cheeks warm up at the stare; neither Sander’s behavior nor his embarrassing pet name had deterred Robert from his pursuit of Booker. He had offered finer cigarettes than Booker could ever afford, and picked up his tab. This man set his sights on a goal and reached them.

“I can endure a day’s work,” Booker replied. He broke eye contact with Robert to give his drink a shake before he threw it back, downing the lot all at once. “Or a night’s. Depends on what I’m needed for, really.”

“I see.” Robert licked his lips after another sip of his brandy; Booker glanced at the gesture before he recalled the cigarette still burning in his hand and took a drag from it. Robert’s smile grew a bit wider as he noticed Booker’s shift in attitude. “You needn’t fear me, Booker. If you wish that I take my leave of you, merely say so. Hunger as though I might, I am not here for predation. I prefer my companions able _and_ willing.”

Booker scoffed and shook his head. “I’m not afraid of you.” He sighed and looked down to his forearm. Robert had set his own drink aside to free up his hand, which now rested in the bend of Booker’s elbow. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Booker moved his gaze up to meet Robert’s again. “Should I be?”

Robert’s smile eased into a wider one, a peek of his teeth flashing between his lips. “Not at all.”

 

After two more rounds of drinks for each of them, Booker felt warm and numb inside. The anxiety of his memories keeping him awake had ebbed away in the tide of good liquor. His taut shoulders dropped from the relaxation of alcohol’s pull instead of the usual slump of depression. Robert had coaxed him away from the bar, the Brit’s own rigid stance loosened and open. In fact, Robert’s posture had become so lax that Booker threw his arms under Robert’s lower back and kept him from swaying dangerously close to a table and the men seated there.

Though slight of build compared to Booker, Robert’s dead weight nearly dragged them both over. Were it not for Robert catching his foot right on the floor, they both would have gone tumbling. Instead, Robert pushed back and stood upright again. Chuckling low in his throat, Robert ran his hands over Booker’s shoulders and down his arms until he brought one of Booker’s hands up as if to take the lead in a dance.

“Do you waltz, Booker?”

Booker frowned and shook his head. “I’m shit at dancing. Ain’t had much occasion to dance for, either.”

Robert hummed and pulled Booker with him, drawing Booker in a swaying circle in the small space between tables. “You needn’t have an occasion… it’s better to move oneself than to stagnate.”

“You’re not as drunk as you’re acting, are you?”

“Only inebriated enough to lose balance,” Robert replied. He tucked his head on Booker’s shoulder, leaning his weight into DeWitt enough to force him to step back. When Booker moved back, Robert followed, shifting and pushing Booker just enough to lead him into a brief dance. “There. A little movement is good for you.”

Booker groaned and dropped his forehead against Robert’s shoulder. “Yeah, you pull the strings and I can move however you like,” he grumbled. “Is that how this is going to go?”

Robert lifted his head and turned to speak softly into Booker’s ear. “I can stop if you desire. I merely thought we were having fun. That’s why I approached you in the first place.”

Booker picked his head up and looked Robert in the eyes, warily studying Robert’s stony face. “Because I looked like a good time to you?”

“Absolutely not. You looked like you would rather be anywhere but here. This atmosphere only caters to you when you allow it, but you participate in nothing. You weren’t braying at Sander’s heels or seeking your own companion. Why are you _here_ , Booker?”

Biting his bottom lip, Booker felt his own throat go dry. They had stopped dancing; Robert still had his hand, and pulled it between them so the back of Booker’s hand was against Robert’s chest. Waiting patiently for Booker to come up with an excuse, Robert watched Booker avoid his gaze.

“I… don’t know,” Booker murmured, barely audible against the din of the pub. “I mean…”

“Do you feel alone?” Robert leaned in enough to whisper the question into Booker’s ear. His hand gently rubbed the small of Booker’s back as he awaited a response.

“I do.”

Robert nodded and continued, as softly as before. “For tonight, you don’t have to.” He stepped back far enough to give Booker some breathing room, and tried to release Booker’s hand. Booker kept his grip and looked up into Robert’s eyes.

“You… want me?” asked Booker. His eyes were a little glassy, possibly from the booze, possibly from a buried emotion that threatened to reveal itself with liquor wearing down the walls. “I mean… ‘course you did, you approached me, after all,” he continued, puffing his chest out briefly but losing the machismo with a sigh.

Robert smiled and moved alongside Booker, placing a hand at the small of his back. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private,” he offered. Booker gulped and looked over to him, then at the stairs toward the back of the pub.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

 

Once they had procured a room key, Robert guided Booker to their private space and released him to lock the door behind them. Booker stepped further into the room, nearer the bed and rolled out his shoulders. He tilted his head enough to give his neck a stretch and loosened the muscles, only to tense up again when Robert stepped up behind him and circled long arms around Booker’s thick waist.

“Skittish, aren’t we?” Robert murmured, lightly butting his nose against the back of Booker’s neck.

Booker sniffed and patted Robert’s arms around his waist. He turned enough to look over his shoulder, blushing a rich scarlet at nearly meeting Robert’s lips. “Not as experienced as you might like. You seem to know where you’re goin’… Much of what I’m used to…”

“Has been with women?” Robert guessed, and was rewarded with a nod from Booker for being right. Robert smirked and drew away from Booker to remove his suit jacket, hanging it on a peg on the wall closest to the door. “I don’t expect a lover to be perfect right out of the gate, regardless of how often he’s bedded _anyone_. My personal desires are unlike those of anyone else you may have been with, woman or man.”

Metallic creaking came from the old bed behind Robert as Booker took a seat and the frame strained under his weight. Robert turned to find Booker watching him, eyes narrowed and head canted to one side.

“You’re… different,” Booker said. “Not many folks are so cavalier when told to not expect anything good. I mean, I’ve definitely fooled around with a couple of fellas here, but…” He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck, as though expecting reproach.

Robert chuckled quietly and loosened his tie before he removed it. “Again, not many people are like me. I would rather stand out than to blend in, wouldn’t you?” He laid it on a table near the bed and began to unhook the cufflinks from his shirt, laying them beside the tie.

In response, Booker’s brow furrowed and his expression became pinched. He looked away from Robert and got up, pulling at his tie and the collar to his shirt. “Bein’ different’s nearly cost me too much,” he grumbled, making for the door. Robert managed to stop him before he reached the knob, his hand gently settled on Booker’s shoulders.

“If I’ve reached a sore spot, I apologize, Booker.” Robert delicately moved one hand to the side of Booker’s neck. He could feel Booker’s pulse racing under his palm. His thumb moved to graze over Booker’s Adam’s apple, which bobbed with a heavy swallow. “But don’t leave me just yet… how can I make amends?”

Booker shrugged his shoulders and pulled back a little; Robert started to drop his hands but Booker pushed them back into place. “Just don’t get personal with me, Bobby. You won’t like it.”

Robert frowned at the repeated nickname, but nodded his promise. “Very well. All I desire is a good time. Is that what _you_ need?” He had both hands on the sides of Booker’s neck, massaging the nape under his fingers. Booker’s head dropped forward and he moaned quietly in the otherwise silent room.

“Mm… That’s definitely what I need,” Booker replied, a hoarse and hollow laugh following.

Chuckling again, Robert moved his hands up along Booker’s neck and cupped his face with warm fingers. Booker watched Robert with wider eyes now, licking his lips in anticipation. Robert leaned closer and kissed Booker, his movements slow and cautious for both their sakes. He felt Booker’s hands settle on his hips and Robert braced himself for a push away when Booker’s grip tightened and dragged Robert up against him.

Robert gasped and shut his eyes; under his touch, Booker's skin was warm while Robert’s fingers grew cold as his own heartbeat sped up. Booker nipped at Robert’s bottom lip and earned a soft gasp for his efforts. Robert dropped one hand from Booker’s face and laid it on Booker’s chest while he flicked his tongue out to tease Booker’s lips. Hooking cool fingers over the top of his collar, Robert fumbled with the top buttons a moment until Booker pushed him back far enough to break the kiss.

“Lemme get that,” Booker breathed, opening his shirt halfway and pulling his tie off and throwing it to the floor. Robert watched, captivated, as Booker removed his waistcoat. “You gonna just watch or are you gonna dress down, too?” Booker asked.

Blinking with surprise at the realization that he had simply frozen in place, Robert struggled to open his vest when he became active again. “I _could_ just watch you,” he muttered, heat turning his own face red. He turned around to hang his vest with his jacket when Booker snatched him by his bracers and dragged him away from his task.

“Is that what you like? Watching?” Booker hissed into Robert’s ear before nipping at the lobe.

Robert gasped a soft “oh” and leaned back into Booker’s chest. He could feel the heat radiating off Booker before he released Robert again, leaving him feeling quite cold in comparison. Hanging up his vest with shaking hands, Robert turned around and smoothed down his open shirt, not watching Booker beside him.

“Hey.” Booker caught Robert’s attention and pulled off his own suspenders, then pulled his shirt off. A popping of threads in the process caused Booker to growl and he threw the garment to the floor. “Well, shit. That’ll have to be fixed.”

“You… look better without it,” Robert whispered, approaching Booker without caring for his damaged shirt, only what its loss revealed. “You’re very broad…” Robert said, laying his hands on Booker’s bare chest and marveling at the power he felt under his fingers. “And strong.”

“Comes with manual labor. Not that I think you know what that is,” Booker teased. He settled his hands on Robert’s forearms but did not push him away. “Your hands are pretty soft… and clean.”

Robert inhaled sharply as Booker returned the favor, slipping one hand underneath his partly unbuttoned shirt to rest tough, calloused fingers on Robert’s collarbone. Goosebumps popped up across Robert’s skin as Booker’s hand felt more like sun-warmed leather than his own delicate, pampered skin.

“I suppose I do come across as a bit… _dainty_ , compared to you.” Robert took a step forward and ran his hand over Booker’s chest, curled long fingers over tan shoulders and over the thick muscle of Booker’s biceps. “May I?” Robert asked, replacing his hand on Booker’s torso, just above the waistband of his trousers.

“No, you may not. Not yet, anyway.” Booker smirked and plucked Robert’s hands from his body. Before Robert had too long to be offended by Booker’s rejection, the redhead’s hands were pushed toward his own shirt. “How about you make this even?”

Robert pressed his lips together and flipped his hands over Booker’s wrists. “Why don’t you take it off me yourself, then, if you desire it so?” he challenged, raising his chin and puffing his chest out. Robert’s held breath escaped him in short order when Booker merely shrugged and began to undo the fragile pearl buttons without hesitation. Booker did pause to chortle, however, when he peeled Robert’s dress shirt away to reveal the sleeveless undershirt beneath it.

“Really?” Booker shook his head and gave Robert a light shove back. “Enough of this. If I have to deal with your layers, we’ll be here all night. And not having any fun.” Booker chuckled and sat on the bed to remove his shoes and unclip his suspenders, giving both a toss in the general direction of his torn shirt. “You know how your fancy clothes work… _you_ undress yourself.”

Red-faced in the light of Booker’s laughter, Robert nodded, mute as he took up the room’s lone wooden seat and followed suit, undressing himself with quickly. Each item of his own still carefully set aside until Robert stood up again and turned in the direction of the bed. One of his hands fell upon his chest as he took in the sight of Booker, stretched out on the bed, equally naked but a stark contrast even without the barrier of clothing. Where Robert was pale, freckled and soft, Booker’s skin had the warm glow of a man who worked with his hands, out in the sun. A few faint lines mapped out where Booker may have gone about his business in just an undershirt, but the slight difference in hue suggested that even the undershirt had not lasted long. Among the curves and valleys of muscle, pink blotches and lines cut through the tan – scars – and Robert reached for them as he sat beside Booker on the bed.

“You’ve been shot,” Robert whispered, tracing the outline of a scar that made a circular ripple just below Booker’s collarbone. He tensed when Booker pushed his hand away and wagged a finger at Robert.

“I’ve done some shooting, too. But, that’s all you get to hear, Bobby. Now, c’mon.” Booker reached behind Robert’s neck and pulled him down until Robert lay on top of him, hands catching on the mattress before he smashed his skull into Booker’s.

“That’s more like it,” Booker said, his free hand sliding along Robert’s thigh to tug him closer; Robert shifted his weight until he supported it on his knees, earning a satisfied grin from the man below him.

“I do have _some_ idea of what I’m doing, Booker.” Robert dipped forward and bit Booker’s bottom lip, tugging on the sensitive flesh harder with his teeth. Booker growled and tried to nip back, but Robert pulled just out of reach and dove back in, pressing his lips to Booker’s hard enough to win a throaty growl.

Booker sucked on Robert’s tongue when it pushed into his mouth; underneath him, Booker arched his hips up and pulled Robert down. Keeping pace, Robert rolled his hips with Booker’s, only to find the bigger man’s legs coming up to frame him, giving Robert little room to move. They teased each other in a continuous push-and-pull until Booker flipped them on the bed. The frame gave a shuddering creak until their weight settled again.

“If you’re just gonna tease me, I’m just gonna hafta take charge,” Booker whispered. He leaned down and tucked his face into the nape of Robert’s neck, sucking at the tender flesh until Robert hissed, then he bit, hard enough to bruise and pulled away, admiring the reddish purples that blossomed to the surface. “A little imperfection in that pretty freckled skin of yours,” he declared.

Robert glared up at Booker. His skin was flushed all over, and the sight of Booker looming over him doing little to quell his arousal. “Well, now that you’ve left your mark, shall we get on with this?” Robert reached out to trace Booker’s thighs until his fingertips brushed Booker’s cock. “Or are you the type to just get on with a little mutual wanking and call it an evening?”

Booker’s brow furrowed and he frowned. “W-what?” he hiccupped, his face twitching slightly. “What did you just say?” He swallowed down a strangled noise, almost as if he fought being sick.

Offended, Robert withdrew his hands to either side of his head. He frowned back at Booker, and would have gotten out of the bed to dress if Booker had not just then _collapsed_ on top of him. Booker’s arms tucked under Robert’s back and the larger man was shaking… with **laughter**.

“Booker…? What di-“

“You… you looked so serious…” Booker picked his head up long enough to look at Robert, his face splitting into a grin. “Oh… I’m… I’m sorry…”

Robert curled his arms across Booker’s back and rubbed small circles into his shoulders while Booker calmed himself down. After another minute of laughter, Booker picked his head up from Robert’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. His cheeks were a rosy red and his eyes were wet from laughing hard enough to draw tears.

“I needed that,” Booker said, biting his bottom lip. “Did I ruin your night?”

Looking up at Booker’s blushing face, his smile hesitant after witnessing the much wider grin at Robert’s expense… hearing Booker’s shaking breath and feeling the warmth of Booker’s body draped over his own… Robert shook his head.

“Truthfully, no. I think I enjoyed the honesty of you laughing at my remark than the unctuous overtures of a wayward lothario.” Robert grinned at Booker’s tilted head and soft murmurings of what Robert had just said.

Huffing, Booker asked, “What the hell was that?”

Robert laughed and sat up on his elbows, whispering close to his lips. “I prefer an authentic lover to one who shows off.” With that explained Robert kissed the confused pout from Booker’s mouth and pulled him back down. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind… We’ve unfinished business.”

Booker smirked and kissed Robert again. “If that’s what you want to call it, Bobby. I prefer an ol’ fashion fucking, myself.”

Robert chuckled and rolled his hips up to meet Booker’s. “Then, _fuck me_ , Booker.”

Raising both brows at the dropped cuss, Booker obliged Robert by stroking the two of them together, his hand around their cocks while he sucked on Robert’s bottom lip again. Robert responded by parting his legs, giving Booker more room to move.

Once he was satisfied with Robert’s writhing under him, Booker pinned Robert’s arms back against the bed, instructing him to stay put as he climbed off the bed. Robert lifted his head to watch while Booker sifted through the small nightstand drawer, and then retrieved a vial of some golden liquid. He held it up and gave the oil a little shake.

“One does admire an establishment with all the amenities,” Robert said. “Convenient, that they expect this of their clientele.”

“Could be worse. I could just be using saliva,” Booker replied.

Robert laid back and let Booker take his place again. “That _would_ be worse. I don’t think I could stay in ‘the moment’ if I had to wait for you to _spit_ on me.”

Booker eased Robert’s legs back and chuckled. “Do you get off on being witty?” he asked, easing his fingers inside with gentle pushes.

Gasping, Robert shrugged as best he could in his position. “Repartee is **crucial** to the act. What point is there to having – ah! _Careful…_ ” Robert cleared his throat and held his legs up to make it easier for Booker. “What point is there to having _relations_ without words?”

Booker poured oil into his hand and stroked his erection, nodding his head thoughtfully to the idea. “I guess that means you’re gonna be plenty vocal?” Robert nodded. “Fine, but if you start singing, we’re done.” Booker grinned and fell into place over Robert, balanced on one hand while the other held his cock at the ready. He looked down into Robert’s eyes, awaiting permission.

“Please,” Robert demanded in a hushed tone. He gulped when Booker pushed inside, allowing his eyes to slip closed to concentrate on the sensation of being full. Inhaling slowly, he could smell the salt of Booker’s sweat, mingled with the remnants of tobacco smoke and whiskey on his breath. Before he reopened his eyes, Booker’s lips were on Robert’s again, dotting his mouth with light pecks as he pulled away, nearly all out then back in again.

Robert’s mouth fell slack. He lifted his legs to hook them with Booker’s, keeping the larger man close. He slipped an arm under one of Booker’s to drape across his back while the other curled over Booker’s neck. He murmured praise and encouragement into Booker’s ear; Booker moaned back and kept his lips to Robert’s neck and jaw so he could continue to hear Robert speak.

The bed frame creaked with Booker’s thrusts, made worse when he broke out of Robert’s grip and sat back on his knees. He held a hand up to quiet Robert before he asked what was happening; Booker grabbed Robert underneath his ass and hoisted him up, holding onto Robert’s waist and continuing from there.

Moaning Booker’s name, Robert pulled on his knees, changing the angle just enough for Booker as he thrust into the redhead. True to Booker’s assumptions, Robert continued to moan and plead Booker for more, until sweat beaded at Booker’s temples and his thrusts stuttered. Robert let go of one leg to stroke himself, picking up on Booker’s approaching climax.

Spine stiffening, Booker let go of Robert’s waist with one hand and slammed it into the wall just over Robert’s head as he came, snarling through his teeth. The loud bang, the splintering of wood – Robert stared, wide-eyed, up at Booker, his own movements halted.

Feral, green eyes stared down at Robert; sweat rolled over flushed skin and into the valleys between taut muscles. Booker breathed heavily and hoarse; Robert panted through his slack lips. Letting go of his other leg, Robert reached up with his free hand to touch Booker’s cheek. Booker closed his eyes and turned into the touch, kissing Robert’s palm.

“Your turn,” Booker rumbled as he curled away from Robert’s touch. He pulled away from Robert completely, leaving the redhead feeling empty as Booker repositioned himself on the small bed.

One foot braced on the floor, Booker dropped his head between Robert’s legs and tucked his hand beneath Robert’s thigh.

“Booker, you really don’t-“ Robert protested, the words choked off when Booker began to suck his cock. Instead of trying to push him away, Robert pulled at Booker’s hair, following the bobbing of his head. Already worked up, Booker hardly had to put in much effort to get Robert to cum into his mouth; Booker grunted and glared up at Robert for the lack of warning.

“You made that choice,” Robert snapped at him. He fell back against the bed, shaking and cold.

Booker sat up, half kneeling on the edge of the bed. Thumbing at the corner of his mouth, Booker licked his lips, staring at Robert, but not his eyes. He looked at Robert’s stark white thighs, and then dropped down again. Kissing the inside of Robert’s leg, he left another mark, a larger bruise than the hickey on Robert’s throat, biting hard enough to leave a distinct impression of his teeth.

When he came up again, Robert slapped Booker across the mouth. “You should have warned me.”

Booker growled at the attack and sat beside Robert, caressing the fresh mark with the pad of his thumb. The sting of the bruise made Robert shiver and gasp. Booker smirked down at him, a brow raised.

“You could have _asked…_ ” Robert grumbled, leaning into Booker’s shoulder to avoid his cocky grin. “You already left your mark on my neck.”

“Didn’t want you forgetting me… and that one’s just fer _you,_ ” Booker said. He pulled Robert close to him and lay down with him. He pulled the threadbare blanket out from under Robert’s ass and over the both of them. “’Specially since I figure one of us won’t be here in the morning. A man like you’s probably got places to be, important shit to take care of.” Booker shifted and wriggled until he was comfortable, then pulled Robert half on top of him again.

“You’re rather perceptive, aren’t you?” Robert replied, struggling to find a decent position against Booker’s large frame and under his heavy limbs. “Booker, the light.”

Booker’s eyes had already slipped closed, but he did pop one eye open just enough to smile lazily at Robert. “I don’t pay the damn bills. They want it off; they can come in and turn it off.” He closed his eye again and adjusted his head so his lips pressed against the tip of Robert’s nose.

Robert sighed and shook his head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Yeah, I know,” Booker snorted. “But you didn’t come lookin’ fer a man with good morals, did ya?”

“No… I was looking for you…” Robert whispered, closing his eyes. He held his breath, waiting for Booker to say something, anything, about what Robert meant.

Instead, Booker laughed, too sleepy to give the statement much thought. “Well… ya foun’ me…” he said, half drifted off. His arms relaxed around Robert, heavy and warm. “G’night, Bobby…” he breathed, feebly working his lips to kiss the bridge of Robert’s nose.

Robert sighed in resignation and draped an arm over Booker’s waist. “Goodnight, DeWitt.”


	2. Storge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert and Booker head to their respective homes. Booker realizes he might be in over his head with Robert...

Morning fog still drifted over the streets of New York, reminding Robert Lutece of another city, one that floated above the clouds, carrying an army of zealots and oppressed people who would eventually revolt against their masters. That city, that world, never came into being. Columbia was not a part of this universe, drowned in the baptismal waters of another Booker DeWitt’s choice to die, so that no one else ever had to suffer in his stead. When Booker DeWitt killed Zachary Hale Comstock, Columbia went with them both. The man who would bathe the world in fire met his end a river.

DeWitt was a man who hated himself; Comstock was a man who turned that hatred upon the world, to make it pay for crimes imagined when he could love nothing more than his own ego.

The peacefulness of the early morn was a reward to Robert Lutece, a reminder of his mission, and the reasons he had sought this world’s Booker DeWitt in the first place. Rosalind had proposed a theory, one that concerned Robert: Booker DeWitt existed in another part of time, in universes without Comstock, where the baptism had never been an option to DeWitt.

However, two constants remained as fixed points of Booker DeWitt’s suffering: His wife’s death, and Booker’s inability to cope with loss. Robert had managed to follow DeWitt enough to see that he still incurred debts, his drinking habit costing him the most.

Pausing before a store, Robert checked his appearance in a darkened window. He managed to clean himself up somewhat when he had left Booker slumbering at _Ganymede’s Cup,_ but he still felt filthy. Smoothing down his rumpled suit, Robert gasped when his hand managed to pull his trousers a bit, the material dragging across the bruise Booker had left inside his thigh.

Robert’s face turned a light pink; he turned away from the window when a movement behind the glass reminded him that people were waking, and the shopkeeper had been watching Robert tidy himself up with an amused stare.

 _Perhaps he assumes I am some sort of hypocritical teetotaler…_ Robert thought to himself, turning away on a sharp snap of his heels to continue his journey back home. However, the place he and Rosalind rented was not truly a home, but a base, a makeshift lab to continue their research on interdimensional travel. Most importantly, at least to Robert, it gave them a point of mooring, and the proximity to DeWitt would allow them to ensure he avoided the path that might lead him back to Comstock.

 

As soon as he raised his hand to open the front door, it swung open on its own, Rosalind looking up at him with her perpetually unamused expression. Robert cleared his throat and attempted to enter, but Rosalind blocked his path with her body.

“You’re still wearing yesterday’s suit,” she commented. “Perhaps _I_ should have tailed DeWitt and _you_ should have gone to Bowery Street.”

“Rosalind, allow me to explain-“

“Go, bathe yourself and put on something clean. You reek of whiskey and smoke.” Rosalind stepped back from the door and closed it behind when Robert entered; his shoulders drooped like a scolded hound’s tail. “I will make tea and something for you to eat while you dress.”

Upstairs in his room, Robert undressed and observed his body in a full-length mirror beside his wardrobe. The bruise on his neck appeared a dark red, while the one inside his thigh had turned a deep purple, ringed with the impression of Booker’s teeth. Grazing his fingers over the bite mark, Robert shivered again, recalling the considering way Booker had stared at his pale skin – had Booker licked his chops beforehand, or did Robert merely imagine him to be so feral?

In his personal bath, Robert sat in warm waters and scrubbed over his skin with a soft washcloth, pondering what he had learned from spending the night with Booker.

No doubt existed in Robert’s mind that DeWitt was a violent man; Robert clearly recalled the snarl, the tension through his shoulders as he braced himself for orgasm while Robert had passively laid there, utterly fascinated and completely _electrified_ by the violence. Post-coitus, Booker’s attitude had shifted. He had become cuddly and softened, heavy with exhaustion to the point where Robert had just given up trying to escape his embrace.

Not that Robert had even wanted to leave in the morning. He had hesitated in sitting up, when Booker had draped his arm across his face to block a beam of sunlight, instead of over Robert, giving him the opportunity to depart. In the moments before, Robert had already awoken with the sunrise, studying Booker in his sleep. No lines of regret or despair had carved into his skin; the Booker of this time was still young and reckless, had yet to lose all hope as another had, the one who gave his life to undo the suffering his doppelganger had wrought.

Leaving the bathroom to continue his routine, Robert’s thoughts were still miles away from the present.

The DeWitt Robert had left behind that morning still had a chance of salvation from his misery, if Robert had any influence. Just before he had left, Robert had pressed a light kiss to Booker’s lips. In the haze of sleep, Booker had clumsily reciprocated, mumbling incoherently before dozing off again.

Robert closed his eyes and covered his face with one hand. He was now half-dressed, but imagined Booker fumbling with delicate buttons of his shirt, giving up and simply tearing the material apart. Shaking himself from the fantasy, Robert pulled a grey vest over a clean white shirt, even as a part of him desired he strip his trousers off again and press his fingers to the bruise inside his leg.

“And people have the audacity to suggest women take too long in preparations. I’ve twice as much to wear as you do, and yet, you’ve yet to even put on your socks.” Rosalind stood by the door with a tray in her hands, a stout floral teapot, matching cups and a plate of toast and marmalade all upon it.

Robert turned to look at his twin, his hands dropping to his sides. “My mind wanders when I don’t have you to rein it in,” he said, turning away with a sheepish smile.

Rosalind crossed the room to place the tray on his dresser. “Your mind wanders when it desires to be elsewhere,” she corrected. Lifting her hands, she cupped Robert’s face gently. “Will you be honest with me, brother? What _did_ you do?”

Robert pulled her hands from his face. As he did, Rosalind gasped.

“You’ve been hurt,” she said, moving to touch the bruise on Robert’s neck, but his grip on her wrists stopped her.

“I will tell you what happened, and I do hope you forgive me,” Robert said. He took her to sit on his bed, holding her hands in his own. “I did find DeWitt.”

“I know you did. Why else would you have been gone all night?”

“Rosalind…”

“Robert.”

Pressing his lips together, Robert inhaled slowly, and then began to recount his evening. Flirting at the bar, having paid for his whiskey to entice Booker to give him mind, drinking together, coaxing a dance out of him… Robert censored the more sordid details leading to his falling asleep in Booker’s arms, but even without the lurid description, Rosalind took her hands from his and covered her mouth. She listened, intent but wide eyed, her face as scarlet as Robert’s became as he told her everything. Once he was finished, Robert sat there, observing Rosalind and left to wonder at her thoughts – a rare occurrence for the two of them, but Rosalind had the better poker face than Robert did.

Finally, she put her hands in her lap, clasped together until her knuckles turned white. “This… certainly complicates the situation,” she said. “Though, I never desired Comstock to lay a hand upon  my person, let alone-“

Robert cut her off with a hand between them. “I know. What I did was thoughtless, and utterly selfish.”

“Did you at least leave him the money?”

Taking a deep breath, Robert nodded. “I did, with a brief letter. Though, were I DeWitt, I might think it a payment for… services rendered?”

“How romantic.”

Robert threw his hands up and shook his head. “You joke, but I cannot tell how angry you are with me. I have made a grave mistake… and to my horror, one I desire to make again. And yet, you sit there, ever dutiful, my dear Rosalind…”

Rosalind closed her eyes and lowered her head. “I cannot fault you for your whims, my brother. However, I can be disappointed in your irresponsibility. What if he had taken his self-loathing out on _you_? He is still a horribly violent man-“

“I know.” Robert absently touched at his throat and looked away, focused on a memory instead of the moment. “Is it so terrible that I hope…”

“That he find affection in you? It is not terrible, but…” Rosalind touched Robert’s chin and he readily looked to her. “Foolishly optimistic. But, that is what has always divided us. Your faith in your fellow man, when I’ve yet to be considered anyone’s ‘fellow’ anything.”

Robert’s shoulders slumped and ducked his head, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “Ever the fatalist. I hardly think that this story should end the same way. With my note to him, I have asked to see him again, in one week’s time. Perhaps, by then, I will have summoned the courage to explain myself.”

“Or the original plan will come to fruition and your fancies shall remain as such. There is no guarantee he will accept a stranger’s charity, even if he is to keep Eli- _Anna_ safe and healthy.”

“That reminds me, dear sister… how _did_ you fair at Bowery Street if DeWitt was elsewhere with me?”

Rosalind frowned and turned away, smoothing a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her up-do. “Well…”

 

Booker DeWitt rolled in bed and stretched, muscles creaking and bones popping with his movement. He raked his fingers through his hair, blinking slowly until he recognized that the ceiling above his bed was not the one in the apartment attached to his office. He turned to look for Robert, but discovered the bed beside him was indeed empty.

“He lives,” muttered a familiar voice. Sander sat, free of his performance wear, bare feet propped up on the rooms pitifully small table. A pad of paper perched in his lap. “You were so still, I thought you dead,” Sander quipped, glancing up from his sketchbook. “You make for a lovely model, sleeping like that.” He turned his work around, revealing a rough drawing of Booker in bed.

Booker sat up and pulled the blanket further up his waist. “And you best watch how you wake a man. You’re lucky I left my pistol at home,” he grumbled from a dry throat. “Where’s…?” he trailed off, doubting that Robert had stuck around.

“Left shortly after sunrise.” Sander turned his pad around and resumed his work, even though Booker had awakened and changed position. “Settled the bill for the room before he went. Even your tab with Nancy.” Sander smirked and glanced up from his drawing, adding, “I wish my date had been so generous.”

Booker snorted and slid off the bed, wrapping the thin blanket around his waist until he could dress. “Hey, you already live here. But you can have him if he comes back. Yanno that I don’t…”

Sander sighed and nodded. “Yes, you only come for a little bit of fun, nothing serious… I think last night was your first overnight stay… What would Annabelle think?”

“Hey! You don’t get to bring her up!” Booker snarled. He pitched a pillow from the bed, though Sander batted the flattened thing aside without even looking offended. “Annabelle’s gone…”

“My apologies, Booker.” Sander closed his book and sat forward, his feet on the floor. “I don’t believe she would really have thought less of you. Indeed, perhaps she would be glad to see you in the company of others… at least other men… not just a maid and a baby.”

Booker covered his face with one hand and grimaced. “Shit… I’ve got to get home… Get out, so I can dress.”

Sander leaned back in seat. “And miss seeing you nude?”

“Move it, Cohen!”

Sander laughed and got to his feet, collecting his pencils and the knife he sharpened them with. “Very well, Biscuit. Adieu.”

Groaning, Booker ushered Sander from the room so he could dress, pulling his things on in haste. He still smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke – he reasoned he could bathe when he got home.

He was not much for prayers, but he at least hoped that Daisy would be calm enough to give him a chance to explain himself before she shot him for being gone all night.

 

As fate would have it, Daisy greeted Booker at the door with his pistol, pointed right at his face.

“Whoa, whoa, easy…” Booker pushed down the barrel from his face and looked over Daisy’s arm. “I can explain.”

Daisy snagged Booker’s tie and pulled him down to her level. Fourteen years old and a lifetime scraping by made the girl lean and strong – and Booker constantly forgot that fact, so whenever she used his weight against him, he was never prepared.

“You been gone all night an’ all you gotta say is ‘I can explain?’” Daisy sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “For once, your stink ain’t made of just liquor. Get in here. Anna’s been toddling all over, lookin’ for you. She’s the only reason I didn’t shoot you on sight.” Daisy stepped away from the door and hauled Booker in behind her, using his tie as a leash.

Behind his office door, Booker pulled his tie free and loosened it. “You gotta stop doing that. People are gonna think you’re _my_ boss.”

Daisy leveled an unamused glare at Booker as she crossed to his desk and unloaded the pistol, separating the bullets from the gun and locking the piece up. “Half the time I’m here, I don’t know who I’m nanny to… a full grown man or an actual infant.”

Booker sighed and rubbed at his stubble-rough cheek. “Daisy, you know I appreciate what you’re doing for me… I can’t aff-“

“Can’t afford nobody else. I know.” Daisy took a deep breath and leaned her small hands on his desk. Long braids dropped over her shoulder as she sat in his office chair, looking, for a moment, like a full-grown woman instead of a teenager. “And nobody wants to hire a black girl with the good sense to talk back. It’s just…” Daisy folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. “You scare me, bein’ out late like that. I thought… one of your creditors decided they couldn’t wait anymore…”

Moving slowly around the desk, Booker knelt beside Daisy and put a hand on her knee. “Hey, I’m not that easy to kill. Besides, the ones I owe money to would rather keep me alive, and milk me like an old dairy cow than put me down. Can’t wring cash from a dead man.”

Daisy slapped at Booker’s shoulder. “No, but they can send people after your daughter. Only reason I came to the door armed was because of some woman knocking at your door until about midnight.”

“Midnight?”

“Yeah, kept wakin’ Anna. Only reason she’s asleep right now is because she didn’t pass out until the wee hours. First nap after she decided you weren’t here to say ‘good morning’ to.”

Booker frowned and sat on his desk. “Tell me what happened.”

“Well… I’d just swaddled Anna for bed when this lady came knocking. I closed her up in her room—“ Daisy gestured back toward the office’s only other door with her head, “And peeked through the mail slot. Some lady was standing out there. Looked damn lost if you ask me.”

“What did she look like?”

“Proper dressed. Clean lady’s suit, neat hair. Red, I think. Blue eyes, but…”

“But what?”

Daisy shuddered and rubbed at her arms as if a chill had fallen over the office. “She spotted me lookin’ up at her and crouched down. She looked dead into my eyes but… it felt like she was looking _through_ me. Spoke to me almost like she knew who I was… but I know I ain’t ever seen a British lady like her before.”

Booker felt his lungs squeeze, as though all the air had been driven out of his body. “British? And red hair. Did she have freckles?” he asked.

Daisy’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Yeah… did you have a run in with her?” She leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “Are you… sleeping with a married woman?”

“Daisy!”

“What? I don’t know what you get up to! You just ‘go out’ and come back stinkin’ of booze, or whatever… you were gone all night… did you get her pregnant? She lookin’ to have your bastard?”

Booker held his hands up and shook his head. “No, no, no! I just…” Taking a deep breath, Booker focused his thoughts. “I met a limey last night who looks just like that, except he’s _definitely_ a man.”

Daisy sat back and furrowed her brow, grimacing. “I don’t need to know why you sound so positive about that, DeWitt.”

Booker rolled his eyes and slid off his desk. “I’m gonna wash up, check on Anna. You should get some rest. You look like you’re my age.”

“DeWitt, you’re twenty.”

“I feel older.”

Daisy laughed and got up from Booker’s chair. She made her way over to Booker’s unmade bed at the corner of the office and flopped onto it. “You were born an old white man. Wake me for lunch.”

Chuckling, Booker went to the next room. Anna was snoozing peacefully in her crib, a blanket swaddled around her waist and legs. Booker paused and leaned over the edge, resting his arms on the railing and watched her a moment. Anna sniffled and wriggled in her sleep, then settled once more.

Booker turned away and let his daughter rest, stripping himself to the waist, discarding his ripped shirt and vest to the floor behind him. He moved to the small dresser in the corner, where a washbasin was ready with a cloth beside it. Scrubbing at his face and hands, Booker pondered if the woman Daisy had described was a relation to Robert, or just a coincidence. If she just happened to look like the man Booker had bedded the night before, what was she after Booker for? According to Daisy, she had shown up around the time he and Robert had been heading to their room. Even if she was a relative to Robert, how did she know he would be meeting Booker?

The whole myriad of questions made Booker’s head spin as he toweled his face off, observing his two-day stubble in the piece of glass that served as his mirror. He scratched at his neck and frowned.

“Better shave soon. I’ll look like an old man before my time…” he grumbled. Turning around, Booker found himself greeted by a waving arm from his daughter’s crib.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, leaning over the side to scoop Anna into his arms. Anna greeted him with a sloppy kiss to the cheek, and Booker held her close and closed his eyes. “I’m trying, sweetheart… I just…” An image of Robert flashed in his mind, but it was darker, his expression firm and unwelcoming, standing at the door...

The room started to swim. His head felt light and his legs wobbled underneath him. Booker cradled Anna tight and slammed his back against the wall, peeling the paper off with him as he slid to the floor. Anna whimpered into Booker’s neck and patted his face; He held her out and checked her over for injury. Seeing nothing more than the fear from the fall in Anna’s eyes, he sighed and called out to Daisy.

“Daisy! Dais—“ The girl appeared before he finished yelling for her.

“Booker!? The hell happened? I heard a crash-“

“Take Anna.” Booker held his daughter out and Daisy carefully plucked her from his hands. “I just… I don’t even know what happened…”

“You were fine ten minutes ago,” Daisy agreed. She backed away with Anna to let Booker get to his feet, which he did, leaning on the dresser for support. “An’ I’ve seen you shitfaced to where you can’t even walk. What happened?”

“I think I’ve been thinkin’ too much,” Booker groaned, splashing water from the basin onto his face.

“Well, it’d be a first. Your brains ain’t used to the effort,” Daisy mumbled. She rocked Anna gently to lift the baby’s spirits again.

Booker groaned and stood up, one hand on the wall to maintain his balance. “I’d take exception to that if you weren’t right,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. “Take Anna into the office… sorry about your nap.”

“I’ll catch up later, provided you’re not leavin’ again tonight,” Daisy replied. “Not if that’s how you’re gonna spend the rest of today. Have you even eaten today?”

Booker shook his head, the action making him feel woozy again, but not as hard as it had struck him the first time he fell. “I don’t think I could anyway. I’m pretty light on cash and Anna’s gonna need milk soon…”

Daisy approached Booker cautiously, balancing Anna on her hip to free up her hand. “You mean you came back with _money?_ Did you actually get lucky at gambling last night?” She looked wide-eyed and confused – Booker’s problem with gambling was not knowing when to quit while he was ahead.

Booker snorted and shook his head. “Well, I got _lucky_ …” He smirked, the ghost of a bad image of Robert replaced with the ones of a proper man spread beneath him like a feast for Booker.

“And now I don’t wanna know. I’m takin’ Anna to the next room so you can clean yourself up proper.” Daisy changed her grip on Anna to carry her with both arms out into the office, letting Booker shut the door behind them.

Once he was alone, Booker took a moment to get his bearings before he got dressed. As he picked up the vest he had discarded, an envelope fell to the floor with a soft ‘pat’ as it dropped. Scooping up the envelope, he noticed his name written on the front.

“The hell?” he muttered, opening the envelope to discover five, one-hundred dollar bills tucked inside a letter. Booker nearly fell over where he stood, his back hitting the wall beside the door. “Holy shhh…” Reaching beside him, Booker groped at the doorknob, fumbling with it until he turned and nearly ripped it from the hinges, storming into his office.

“Daisy… D- Dais…” Booker continued to stare at the letter, reading but barely comprehending its meaning.

Daisy climbed up from the floor where she sat with Anna, and held onto Booker’s arms. “Take it easy… what… Sweet Mary!” she exclaimed, seeing the money in his hands. “Where’d that come from?”

Booker held out the letter to Daisy. “It was in an envelope with this. I don’t… I don’t get it…” He nearly stumbled to the floor beside Anna and scooped her into his arms, rocking with her and kissing her forehead. In one hand, he clenched the money in his fist, still shocked by the amount.

Daisy sat on the edge of Booker’s desk, now holding the letter and the envelope, turning both over in her hands to see if there was some sort of trick to it. “Looks legit to me…” she murmured.

“Read it. Tell me it’s real,” Booker muttered.

Nodding, Daisy folded her legs under herself and began to read it aloud.

_“Dear Booker… I am writing this in thanks for a marvelous evening in your company. I hope that it is not too forward of me to offer, but I took notice of the state of your clothes, the easy tear in your sleeve…”_

Daisy paused and raised an eyebrow at Booker. “Good lord,” she deadpanned. Booker suddenly did not see her, focused entirely on Anna.

Clearing her throat, Daisy continued. _“In the hopes that I may help, I have included the following amount of five-hundred dollars,”_ Daisy paused, breathed out a prayer and shook her head before reading the rest. _“…with the hope that we meet again, one week from now, in the same place. Perhaps, this time, we could get to know one another more…”_ Daisy leaned on her elbows and squinted at the word.

“’Intimately,’ it says,” finished Booker.

“Oh, no, I can _read_ the word. I just don’t know if I like it.” Daisy read off the closing, _“Anticipating a further meeting, Yours, Robert.”_ She sat back on her palms with the letter in her lap, looking it over again. “So, he’s gonna let you keep all that on the condition that you see him again? What’s he gonna do if you don’t?”

“It don’t say it’s conditional, but I’d be quite the fool not to take him up on his offer,” Booker said.

“You sure you ain’t seen the man before? I mean, you don’t seem to know more than his name, which don’t seem right to me.” Daisy sat forward again. “I mean, five _hundred_ dollars? What if he calls it in, like another debt? You can’t pay it back – on top of what you already owe to shadier people. What do you think he’s gonna want from you?”

Booker’s jaw set and he shook his head. “I don’t know. But, right now, I… _we_ need it. I still owe you salary, and I can get Anna a proper pram instead of the old one the neighbors gave me.” He sat Anna in his lap and she held onto his thumbs for a moment while she stood on his legs.

“I might be able to pay off someone…” he trailed, holding Anna up while she struggled to maintain her balance. “Well, a little bit…”

Daisy slipped off the desk and over to Booker, sitting beside him and leaning against his shoulder. “DeWitt, I don’t care what business you have with this Robert fella. But, if he starts to smell like the other trash who’ve got you by your britches, you better cut and run. I dunno what I’d do if something happened to you. I don’t wanna put Anna in the hands of some orphanage…”

Booker sat Anna in his lap again and put an arm around Daisy’s shoulders. “Hey, I may be a fool, but I won’t let it come to that. I’m not handing Anna over to anyone, and neither will you have to.”

“Good.” Daisy got to her feet and plucked the money from Booker’s hands. She gave it careful scrutiny, running her fingers over the ink, holding each bill up to the light. “They look real, Booker. I’m no gendarme, but I think I’d know a phony if I saw it. I work for you, after all.”

Booker let her jibe slide off his back as he focused on Anna, who smiled up at her father, unaware of how his heart hammered in his chest. Robert had, somehow, for some reason, given him a means to get out of debt. A leg up, realistically, but it was better than the hole he had been digging himself. Give Anna some proper clothes. Proper _food_. He could actually eat _with_ his daughter, instead of just giving her the lion’s share of scraps.

 _But there has to be a reason,_ his mind hissed. _You’re not that good a fuck,_ he reminded himself. _No one’s that generous without a catch. There’s always a catch_.

With the doubt settling in to rot at the back of his mind, Booker got to his feet, scooping Anna up. His eyes started to prickle with honest to God tears; the relief was dying in a struggle against the reminders that he was Booker DeWitt, Fortune’s punching bag. He wanted to break down, afraid and angry, but he did not have that luxury. There were things needing tending to.

“If you’re not gonna sleep in, Dais, we should get Anna dressed. Time we supplied this place with some proper dry goods, set up an order with the milk man, while I’ve the chance to do so,” Booker said. He swallowed down his turmoil and fixed his thoughts on _forward,_ instead of trying to retreat into self-doubt… for a change.

Daisy looked up at Booker, smoothing out and folding over the bills before giving them to her boss. “You sure about this? I mean, takin’ the charity’s well and good if you want it, but that’s still a lot to give away.”

Booker shook his head. “I am not gonna stew on it right now. If I do, I might do something foolish, like give it back.”

“And you, Booker DeWitt, never do anything foolish.”

“…You know what I mean, Daisy.”

 

With Daisy’s insistence, Booker was careful about how he spent his earnings that week. The cupboard stocked, Anna in better clothes, Booker affording himself a new razor and shirt; the first hundred was spent after giving Daisy her overdue salary.

However, the remaining money weighed heavily on Booker’s mind. It was another debt to another man. Robert might not have been as slimy as Fink, the man he owed more to than just another “date.” As bad as his debt was, the money called out to him, made Booker itch for the thrill of another gamble; poker, racing, whatever he could throw money at and hope for riches.

By the end of the week, Booker had grown wary and agitated. In that time, neither Robert nor the woman Daisy described had shown their faces – not even casually running into each other on the street.

Saturday came and evening fell. Booker put on his new shirt and a clean tie, snapping his suspenders over his shoulders. A little sting gave him a moment of clarity as he stared at himself in the mirror. A movement in the reflection had him spin around on his heels to look at Daisy, whom he had convinced to spend the night again, watching over Anna.

“You know where the pistol is. If that woman makes another appearance, tell her to leave her business or come back at a godly hour.”

“I still don’t like this, DeWitt. What if he wants more than you’re willin’ to give?” Daisy asked. She leaned on the frame, light from the office silhouetting her and casting a golden halo in her braided hair. Her arms were folded in defense, but her eyes spoke of worry for Booker.

“I’m just gonna see what he’s really after. Every man’s gotta tell, right?”

“Yeah, but you’re shit at poker.”

Booker chuckled and pulled Daisy close with one arm over her shoulders, rubbing her arm briefly. “Yeah, but that ain’t what I’m goin’ to play. I told you-“

“I know what you told me. You were drunker than a preacher at the endtimes – I still can’t believe…”

Letting Daisy go, Booker retreated to the mirror and tried to make sense of his hair. If this Robert fellow wanted to see him in the same place, might as well gussy up for the occasion. Especially for a man dropping a year’s salary on a person for an evening of company. It was rude to not make himself look at least a _little_ presentable.

Daisy saw right through his wordless deflection. “Booker, you sleep with who you wanna, I don’t care. But something ain’t _right_ about this. What if he wants an ‘arrangement?’ You ain’t the type to be somebody’s kept boy.”

Booker set down his comb; immediately, stubborn strands broke from his crown and dangled over his forehead. “If it comes to it, I’ll tell him ‘no deal.’ If he wants his money back…”

“You’re gonna have to explain why one bill’s missing.”

Turning around again, Booker made his way past Daisy to the office, gently scooping Anna into his arms before he made to leave. “I’ll tell him. Lay on the sob story if I gotta. Appeal to his gentlemanly sensibilities and good, Christian nature.” He stroked the back of her head lightly, as she fell right back to sleep on his shoulder.

“And when that doesn’t work?”

“Hell, I don’t know! It’s only a…hmm…” Booker pursed his lips, at a loss for an adequate word. “Meeting.”

Daisy rolled her eyes and collected Anna from Booker’s arms. “Just be careful, DeWitt.”

“You know me.”

“Yeah, I _do._ ”

Booker checked one more time that he looked adequate – hell, Robert had picked him out from a crowded space looking worse than he currently did, and took his leave, locking the office door behind him.

On his way, Booker looked up to the sky. The stars began to come out; there was not a single cloud to cover the half-moon peeking between the buildings. No one in his part of town bothered to give him more than a passing glance. He had a reputation there for bar hopping; leaving his home in the evening, heading toward the known pubs – no one ever questioned where he was headed. Booker was fairly certain most of them judged him. Or pitied him.

He passed by a couple of working girls he had met through Annabelle; they waved him over for a “date.” Pausing long enough to catch up with a couple of girls he was on friendly terms with, he traded the women a cigarette each for a few ideas.

“Didn’t know your steerage changed course, DeWitt,” one of them teased.

“Well, he was wed to Annabelle – probably ruined all other ladies for him,” another cackled.

“Just watch your teeth, Booker,” a third supplied. “Unless he’s the giving type,” she added, winking at him. “From what I heard of **_you_** , poor Limey might choke.”

Booker flushed crimson and nodded. “I’m gonna take my leave. Thanks.”

“Anytime, DeWitt!”

 

Outside of _Ganymede’s Cup_ , Booker stared at the sign for a short time, wondering if Robert was already in there, waiting. From the alleyway beside, a match flared through the dark, lighting a cigarette. Booker caught the flash of a pale hand shaking the match out and dropping it in the street.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t stand me up, Booker.” Robert appeared from under an awning, cigarette hanging from his lips. He plucked it away and blew the smoke skyward. “I had hoped my letter would have been good enough, but I’m sure my… _incentive_ was equally enticing.”

Booker turned, squared off to him, but Robert either could not read the hostile stance or refused to. Instead, he casually looped his arm with Booker’s, slipping in close to his side. Booker found himself overwhelmed by the scent of good cologne and expensive tobacco. Instead of the mustard yellow suit from the week before, Robert wore a suit of deep olive, making his fair skin look whiter in the streetlight.

“Yeah, I wanna talk about the mo-“

Robert silenced Booker with a finger to his lips. “Later, please. I believe my offer included getting to know you, first. Let’s start there. Business may be conducted after.” He tugged Booker’s arm, leading him into the gentlemen’s club. “Please.”

Relenting, Booker followed Robert inside, greeted once again by jangling music and anonymous faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, gang! I wanted to thank all of those who've read the first chapter, for your comments, kudos and whatnot! <3
> 
> Some familiar faces popped up and the plot thickens! Mwahahahaha! Also, I'm with Ken Levine: Writing for the twins is not easy. How do you write for two people who most definitely share a brain?


	3. Eros

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker and Robert have a second "date."

The smoky haze of the bar was the same as the week prior. Unnamed faces, some glancing their way, others pointedly avoiding eye contact, lest the men inside be found out or recognized. Others still focused on the stage, where a burlesque poet, a man far older than Sander, recited a bawdy verse about youths he had laid in his bed. At times, he would point out a patron, beg a name from him, and then “recall” a beautiful boy he had lain with who happened to bear the same name.

“Perhaps it was you,” the poet sighed, casting a hand toward the audience, making a few of the patrons shift in their seats.

Forgoing the bar, Robert kept his grip on Booker’s arm until they sat far enough from the stage to avoid the gaze of the lecherous bard. Sander greeted them in lieu of a regular server; his skintight performance wear he traded for a tatty suit and silken tie Booker speculated he scrounged from a less fortunate man – perhaps a fool who thought Sander Cohen too _delicate_ to bloody his hands. Booker tried to put the image out of his mind; if only it had been his imagination and not a memory…

“An affair, before my eyes, Booker? Harlot,” Sander spat, holding a small platter of empty brandy snifters. “I thought we had finally connected.”

Booker snorted and rapped his knuckles on the table. “The only connection we’ve got is in the grave, Cohen. Whiskey, would you kindly?”

Sander’s smile was tight and professional as he turned to Robert. “For you, Monsieur?”

“A good port, if you please,” Robert replied, thumbing a dollar free from his wallet to tip Sander before bringing their drinks. “I trust your taste.”

Sander picked up the bill with a raised eyebrow and his lips pressed into a thin line, barely indicating the fake smile he had moments before. “I’ll see what Nancy has in stock,” he clipped, turning on his heel to approach the bar.

Booker removed a cigarette from his pocket and tapped it on the table. “You’ve got some marbles, passing out cash like that, Bobby. Sander’s got daggers for you.”

“That’s _why_ I hoped a little bribery may spare my neck another evening. At least until tomorrow.” Robert turned his seat so his back was largely to the other patrons, his focus on Booker. “I would like to enjoy your company,” he said, bridging his hands below his chin and leaning forward. “And I hope you enjoy mine.”

Booker sat sideways against their shared table, stretching his legs out and resting one arm on the chipped wood. He preferred to keep Robert to one side, not let anyone get the drop on them. Old habits. Lifting his cigarette to his lips, Booker left it hanging, unlit for the moment, speaking around it.

“I can’t have been that much for company last time, Bobby. I was half drunk when you found me.”

Robert disregarded the comment with a wave of his hand. “I saw exactly the type of man I wanted and approached. Is that so hard to believe, Booker?”

Sander interrupted with their drinks, settling Booker’s whiskey in front of him while nearly snapping the stem off the wineglass for Robert’s port. “Tab, gentlemen?” he asked, focus entirely on Booker, even if addressing the both of them.

“Start it under me. I’m feeling generous,” Booker said. “Considerin’ you paid me off last time. Only fitting I return the favor.”

Robert smiled and moved his chin to the palm of one hand. “So I see. Then I’ve favors to return as well.”

Sander cast Robert a murderous glare and stalked off, settling in the lap of another regular and feeding him his brandy. Booker watched him go; hoping that Sander’s jealousy was only an act, not a promise of aggression. It was very difficult to tell with the little spitfire – the kid carried a straight razor in his pocket before hair even showed up on his jaw.

“Distracted, Booker?”

Turning his attention back, Booker traded his cigarette for the glass and took a sip. “Occupied, maybe.” He hissed at the stinging taste of his dearest addiction and set the glass down. “Hopin’ I can have a relatively peaceful night.”

“Wouldn’t _dream_ of that.”

Silence settled between them both, Robert’s flirtation sinking like a weight. Booker turned his glass in his fingers before bringing it to his lips, contemplative. He cast Robert a sidelong glance and decided to throw the dice on conversation.

“What brings you to these savage shores, anyway? Fancy a gentleman like yourself would fare much better on his home island,” Booker asked. “The U.S. can’t be that attractive to the Brits anymore. Been a hundred years.”

Robert chuckled and sipped at his wine, licking away the droplets before they stained his lips red. “On the contrary. There are too many men like myself: scholarly, educated… except they’re all old, all stodgy, and all very boring. Content to settle into old ways and consider their academia complete, smoking down expensive cigars and getting fat on greasy beef,” Robert said, letting his eyes wander over Booker’s face. He chuckled, catching the confused raise of Booker’s brow. “I spoke over your head didn’t I?” A nod. “I mean there’s nothing _new_ or exciting. Just a bunch of old windbags,” he paused when Booker snickered, “sitting around clubhouses, content to let the world pass them by. They all think they’re smarter than me because they’re _old_. My sister is even less fond of them than I.”

Booker shifted, turning in his seat to face Robert. “You’ve a sister? She come along for the boat ride?”

“Of course she did. Rosalind - My sister - is a genius; but tell that to some brandy-sniffing, bald-headed… _flapdoodle_ who thinks that a woman can’t have half the brain a man can!” Robert turned away with his glass, his face burning red as he got himself upset for Rosalind’s honor.

Staring at him from across the table, Booker watched Robert’s profile a moment before he started to laugh, and loudly; if the harsh looks given by other patrons near them were any indication. He doubled over his glass and attempted to pick it up, but set it down again as another wave of laughter bubbled up in his chest. Once he settled, Booker took another sip of his whiskey. “That’s a good one, Bobby.” Another chuckle followed. Booker traced the rim of his glass with his fingertip, ruminating on Robert’s outburst.

Blushing for another reason now, Robert turned toward Booker with an abashed smile. “It wasn’t _that_ funny…”

“It ain’t what was said, Bobby.” Booker glanced up from the whiskey. “It’s _how_ you said it. It always tickles me when a proper gentleman like yourself loses his composure.” He picked up his glass again and threw back the last of his drink. “And your affection for your sister is admirable.”

“Oh…” Robert licked his lips and clutched his wine glass, at a loss for response. “Thank you?” he ventured. Taking a sip, Robert looked up to Booker, slowly – he still wore an amused expression – and decided to press. “What of your own family?”

To that, Booker’s smile fell and his face darkened. “Hardly got any.” He caught Sander’s look their way and held up two fingers, ordering a double without interrupting his train of thought. “I’ve a daughter. Just about a year old, now. Anna.”

Robert cleared his throat and reached across the table. “Can I guess that… by your grim look, that her mother…?” He meant to touch Booker’s hand, but Booker was faster and pulled away.

“Passed on during delivery.” Booker nearly snatched the second whiskey glass from Sander before he got too close to the table and gulped it down entirely, dropping both of his empties on Sander’s platter. “I didn’t even know she was gone until I turned around, Anna in my arms… I thought she passed out from the pain,” Booker said. He stared into some middle distance, away from Robert’s face or anyone else’s, for that matter.

“Booker. Look at me.” Robert waited for the eye contact, and this time, managed to put his hand over Booker’s, squeezing his fingers tight. “I’m so sorry. Truly.”

“Ain’t your fault, Bobby,” said Booker, his voice tight and dry. “Nobody’s but my own.”

Robert frowned and got up from his chair, lifting it until he sat beside Booker. He draped one arm across Booker’s shoulders and caressed his cheek with his free hand. “It’s not your fault, Booker. Some things…”

Booker jerked back and snarled at him. “If you say anything about ‘God’s will,’ Bobby, I’m putting your lights out and leaving.”

Stiffening in his seat, Robert pulled his arms away. “I’m an atheist, Booker. God’s will has nothing to do with your wife’s health, or lack thereof. Some things are just… constants.”

“What’s that mean?”

Robert shook his head. “Difficult to explain, really. But, I can say that I’m a scientist, and I’ve traveled a lot. I don’t put much stock in ‘God’s Will,’ for what that’s worth. I dare say you don’t, either?”

Booker shook his head. A single tear rolled down his cheek and Robert thumbed it away before it reached the edge of his jaw.

“At least, then, we’re on even keel.” Robert pressed his side to Booker’s again, rubbing a hand on his shoulder. “Another drink?”

“Please.”

 

Another hour of alcohol and talking around subjects neither man wished to open up about anymore, found Robert and Booker in a room again. Not nearly as drunk as the previous time, Booker shoved Robert against the door and crushed his lips, biting and pulling until Robert opened his mouth; Booker drove his tongue in as if to choke him with it.

Robert pawed uselessly at Booker’s shoulders – he was overpowered, whimpering into Booker’s mouth as he tried to push the jacket off him. When he managed to get around to breathing, Robert covered Booker’s mouth with one hand to catch air.

“Your candor is appreciated, but you were smothering me,” Robert chuckled. He could see the strained smile in Booker’s eyes and felt it against his fingers. “I said I want to reciprocate, and I shall.”

Nodding, Booker pulled back enough to give Robert room; Robert shivered when Booker’s thigh dropped out from between his own and he had space to compose himself. He smoothed his hands over his jacket as he unbuttoned it, folding it over his arm as he did the week prior. Turning from Booker, he moved to place it on the room’s lone chair when he felt arms encircle his waist from behind.

“Am I going to have to watch you fold your laundry again? Much as it might excite you, Bobby, it’s not exactly romantic.”

Booker’s breath in his ear made Robert shiver, and he allowed his shoulder to dip enough that Booker could rest his chin on it. “Why do you insist on calling me that?” Robert asked, avoiding Booker’s complaint.

“Ain’t stopped me yet, _Bobby_ ,” Booker replied, sending another breath into Robert’s ear. “Thought you liked it.”

“Your name doesn’t exactly have a pet version. I don’t think you’d respond well to being called ‘Bookie,’ would you?”

Booker chortled and squeezed Robert tighter; Robert felt an unexpected warmth pool in his stomach before it spread through his body at the laugh, the firm embrace pulling him closer to Booker. Reaching back, he cupped Booker’s neck and he responded by tucking his face into Robert’s nape, nipping at the skin he could get to.

“I gamble, I don’t collect on debts,” Booker murmured. “You keen on giving me a pet name, Bobby?” he asked. As he did, Booker slipped his hands under Robert’s waistband and untucked his shirt. His fingers were warm and rough against the smooth, soft skin of Robert’s stomach. “You trying to keep me?”

“Um…”

“Well said,” Booker snickered and spun Robert around to face him. “I’m getting impatient.” His hands dove into the back of Robert’s trousers and squeezed at his ass, making Robert jump at the treatment. “Now you’re skittish?”

Robert swatted at Booker’s hands and put an arm’s length of space between them. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Much obliged.”

Huffing, Robert turned his hands to Booker’s waistcoat and started to unbutton it. “If you’re so _impatient_ , you could undress yourse-ah!”

Booker surged forward and pinned Robert to the door again, slamming hard enough that Robert felt the wind knocked from his lungs. The strong thigh was between Robert’s again, grinding up just enough that the pressure was maddening.

“Or, I could just drag your slacks down enough to fuck you right now, mess up your clean suit, put a wrinkle in that pretty outfit of yours and leave you looking a filthy mess,” Booker snarled, his lips up to Robert’s as he hissed each syllable. “Why else would you come to a hovel like this and pick up a filthy rotten scoundrel like **me** , _Robert?_ ”

“I…” Robert put his hands on Booker’s waist, neither pushing him back nor pulling him closer. Booker’s words cut through him and made his heart beat faster. Rosalind’s warning about Booker’s violent streak echoed in the back of his mind, sad and distant and fading with every slow push from Booker’s leg. His face was flushed red as he struggled to come up with a coherent reply. “…want you…” was all Robert’s brain could offer. In an attempt to communicate, Robert pushed his hips down on Booker’s thigh.

Booker’s hands framed Robert’s body. Trapped against the door, his heart was racing, and Booker studied him in a manner that made Robert feel like prey about to be devoured. Booker licked his lips and Robert followed the movement with his eyes for only a second before they were kissing again. Robert groaned with some relief – until Booker was gone, walking away from Robert and leaving him cold against the door. His back to Robert, Booker unbuttoned his vest and shirt, discarding them with little care to the end of the bed.

Taking a page from Booker, Robert stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around Booker’s waist. Hands slipped beneath the band of his trousers and Robert’s fingers rubbed circles on whatever skin he could reach.

Booker lifted a hand over his shoulder and pushed Robert’s head into his back. “Tryin’ to get the jump on me, Bobby? You break my buttons, you’re fixing it yourself.”

“You doubt I can sew?” said Robert, pulling his hands out of Booker’s pants to blindly fiddle with the buttons until they were open. Giving a grunt of triumph, Robert shoved at Booker’s trousers until they were down past his hips and he had the freedom to explore Booker’s skin at his leisure.

Booker smirked and turned as best he could with Robert embracing him. “Eager?”

“I admit that I have thought about doing this again more than is… polite.”

Shuffling out of Robert’s arms, Booker laughed. “Polite?” He spun and flopped onto the bed to finish undressing. “I didn’t know loveless fucking could ever be thought about _politely._ ”

Robert frowned, looking away as he sought to disrobe with Booker, staying where he was beside the bed. “I’m glad that my considerations continue to be a source of amusement for you. Think what you might of yourself, Booker, but you leave a lasting impression.”

Raising an eyebrow, Booker’s perpetual delight at Robert’s sophisticated sensibilities continued to show with the lazy smile on his lips. Were it not at his own expense, Robert considered the expression much more attractive than the sullen look he wore earlier.

“What?” Robert snapped peevishly, stepping out of his trousers and leaving them where he had stood.

Booker raised his arms and pulled Robert into his lap. “You’re pouting. Indulge me. When did you get caught in a little daydream about me?” He ran his calloused thumb over Robert’s bottom lip; Robert inhaled sharply before sighing.

“I was taking tea with my sister, in the middle of the day. She didn’t ask for context, but by her thunderous expression, I’m certain she could tell my mind was certainly… elsewhere.”

“She got mad?” Booker’s hand wandered from Robert’s face down to his chest, giving his nipple a pinch.

Robert yelped, his voice jumping in pitch. “Wouldn’t talk to me until supper.”

“Shame.” Booker tucked his face against Robert’s throat and sucked on his Adam’s apple. Both hands seized Robert’s ass and pulled him forward.

“You’re not at all ashamed of being so… ah… distracting, are you?”

“Mm-mm,” Booker grunted, shaking his head as best he could while nipping at Robert’s throat. After a moment, leaving another scarlet bruise on Robert’s freckled skin, he pulled away with a soft ‘pop’ of his lips. “You get what you pay for.”

Booker began to dive for the other side of Robert’s neck, but Robert captured his face with both hands. Pulling him so their eyes met, Robert shook his head.

“Booker, I didn’t pay you to be my whore.”

“Sure.”

“No, Booker, really.”

“Uh huh.”

Robert sighed and kissed Booker, finding his lips to be taught and unyielding as they had been earlier. “Booker, please… that money was a gift. Perhaps a tiny bit of a bribe in the hopes of seeing you again, but-mm.”

Booker dropped his head down until Robert’s lips were against his forehead. Keeping himself there, he replied in a hoarse voice. “We can talk about that later. Let’s get back to having a little fun, shall we?”

Lifting his head again, Booker looked up at Robert, but distance in his gaze. A muscle tensed in his jaw from clenched teeth. Robert could sense him trying to connect, not entirely present anymore. With a heavy sigh, Robert pushed on Booker’s shoulders to get him to lie back on the bed.

“Then, allow me. I promised to take care of you this evening, and I intend to deliver.” Robert kissed away lingering dampness at Booker’s eyes and helped him settle back onto the flat pillow. “Just… allow me.”

Booker swallowed with a click of his throat, taking long, deep breaths while Robert sat up to examine him, deciding on where to begin. Lifting Booker’s right hand, he ran his fingers over the rough knuckles and the bare skin – no “AD” branded into the flesh – and dotted his hand with light pecks. He turned over Booker’s hand and repeated the same treatment to Booker’s palm before he was interrupted with a soft chuckle.

“Bobby, what are you doing?” Booker cracked an eye open and looked up at Robert, a hint of amusement back in his voice.

“I’m doing what I said I would,” Robert replied. He moved his lips up to Booker’s wrist, then moved so that he kissed just inside the crook of his elbow. “Doting upon you as I please.”

“I expected…” Both of Booker’s eyes were open as he searched the ceiling for an appropriate adjective. “Something a little more… active.”

Robert waved a dismissive hand in Booker’s direction, climbing over him to sit on his thighs. “Americans,” he teased. “Always about action, never about the build-up. How unsophisticated.”

“Something sophisticated about sodomy with a man you just met a week ago?” Booker chuckled, and Robert turned a furious shade of red. “I’m _wildly_ out of practice with my etiquette lessons, then.”

“Don’t… you can’t just… how very crude!” Robert sputtered, the tension easing as quickly as it had come when Booker smiled again. He dropped Booker’s hand and turned away, folding his arms over his chest and mock pouting.

Booker reached up and pulled Robert down to him, kissing Robert’s pout away with a soft laugh. “I like it when you blush,” he murmured, biting on Robert’s bottom lip and tugging.

Pulling away just enough to see Booker’s face, Robert cupped his jaw and stroked the rough stubble just around his mouth. “I like it when you smile. You’re very handsome, you know.”

“Only in present company,” Booker muttered, licking his lips and glancing away.

At first, Robert thought he has struck another sad chord in Booker’s heart, when he saw the burning red crawl across Booker’s face, all the way up to his ears. A smile graced his own lips when he realized it was due to the compliment, and he decided to pile them on.

“So very handsome,” Robert repeated, kissing the edge of Booker’s jaw. “And strong.” He moved to kiss around Booker’s collarbone and shoulders. “Fit, handsome, strong…” Robert moved down Booker’s chest, hands following behind to massage heated skin. Booker lifted his head to watch, dropping back again when Robert kissed the inside of his thigh.

“I’m surprised you want _me_ at all. I’m thin and wiry,” Robert said, sighing in exaggeration. “You could easily bend me in half – and I’d let you, gladly.” He licked the head of Booker’s cock before lightly sucking on the head.

“ _Robert…_ ”

“Every part of you is thick.” One of Robert’s hands held up Booker’s cock while the other caressed his balls, tugging very gingerly to gauge his reaction.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Booker hissed, trying again to sit up just enough to watch. He locked eyes with Robert, his face flushed deep red and bottom lip pulled in between his teeth.

“Eyes on me, then,” Robert commanded, not stopping to ponder where this side of him had come from. He made sure to have Booker’s gaze as he started to suck his cock, earning a deep moan for his efforts. Robert could not get much into his mouth – not without injury to either of them – but moved his hand along with his head, keeping his eyes on Booker as much as the action allowed.

Robert bobbed his head and stroked Booker’s cock until he felt a hand at the back of his head, gripping a fistful of red and pulling Robert away. Startled, Robert let go of Booker’s cock, a thread of saliva hanging from his lips until it dropped off.

“Don’t I get a say in how we finish?” Booker huffed, a lopsided grin on his face. “I want to hear you make pretty little noises too, you know.”

“Oh…” Robert nodded, snapping his fingers and climbing off the bed onto shaky legs.

Booker sat up on one elbow, curious – or perhaps watching Robert’s ass, he could not really guess which.

“I came prepared this time,” Robert explained, fishing in his trousers on the floor. “Here we are,” he said, producing a small, pharmaceutical tin and a glass phial that looked more at home on a lady’s vanity than a man’s pocket.

Booker took the proffered tin and read the label. “Lambskin?” he read, raising a brow. “A condom. Well, you’re prepared,” Booker said, flopping back onto the bed.

“Well, it shall make cleaning myself less… it will make _my_ morning easier, trust me.” Robert’s cheeks flushed pink again as he crawled back onto the bed, kneeling over Booker. He drizzled oil from the phial onto his fingertips and leaned forward, balancing awkwardly on one hand as he prepared himself.

“Oh, I trust you, Bobby. Trust you to surprise me.” Booker got the tin open, and unrolled the condom, inspecting it. “You sure this will fit?”

Robert paused on himself and handed the bottle of oil to Booker. “Yes. I have a… rather good spatial memory.”

Booker started to laugh again, shaking his head. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said, easing the condom onto his cock with the help of slick fingers. Robert assisted, his face burning red right to his ears, obscuring the dusting of freckles across his skin.

“Nervous or excited?” Booker asked, drawing his attention up.

“Both,” Robert admitted. “Even… perhaps hopeful.” He pulled the condom to its limit and watched Booker as he adjusted to the sensation. “That we may continue this… courtship.”

Booker looked up and put his hands on Robert’s hips as he positioned himself, helping Robert ease down onto Booker’s cock with greater ease than last time. “Courtship?”

“Mmhmm.” Robert closed his eyes and rested his hands on Booker’s shoulders, balancing himself before pushing up with his legs. “I’m rather taken with you, Booker,” he murmured, leaning in to steal a kiss. “I would like to continue… if you’d like to have me.”

The gentle kiss had silenced Booker, for the most part, stealing words as Robert’s motions drew dry moans from his throat. Lacking anything else to say, Booker nodded, holding on as Robert rode him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Life and other projects got in the way! Thank you all for reading! <3


	4. Mania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Booker and Robert have another morning... Booker has issues... Robert has an offer.

Booker rolled onto his side, feeling warmth and a weight press in along his spine. A sleep-heavy arm dropped over his waist and pinned him to the bed. Keeping his eyes closed, Booker groaned with an unpleasant feeling in his stomach and hammering away at his skull. He squinted against the light slipping between the thick curtains, a singular beam landing on his face. Groaning, Booker flipped onto his back again, his bedmate grumbling incoherently and placing a sloppy kiss to his pectoral when they both settled down again.

“What time is it?” Robert mumbled, lips mashed into Booker’s chest.

_Time is running short. Bring us the-_

“Huh?” Booker started to sit up, hearing a protest from Robert, who tried to push him back against the bed.

“I asked, ‘what time is it?’” Robert looked up from his place against Booker’s chest and glanced toward the window. “Judging by the sun, it’s not yet noon, but still late.” A church bell rang in the distance, and Robert murmured a count of ten. “Just in time for mass,” he grumbled, lurching forward to greet Booker with a lazy morning kiss. Instead, Booker turned his face away, looking toward the door.

“I thought you said… something else,” Booker responded, pulling away from Robert entirely to sit up on the edge of the bed. He covered his face with both hands, struggling to remember what he had heard.

_Wipe away the debt._

Was it a dream? Why did it sound so much like Robert’s voice, yet so cold? What did he want?

Booker looked up when he felt Robert pulling at his fingers. The man before him looked up with concern in his eyes, naked, hair a mess from the night’s activities. In the morning light, the soft blue of Robert’s eyes looked almost like mercury under glass; they did not match the image his mind struggled with: cold, implacable, steel blue staring at him with utter indifference.

“Booker?”

“A nightmare, Bobby.” Despite the obvious explanation, Booker still tensed when Robert leaned in to offer a comforting embrace, his heart beating like a wild bird in a cage throwing itself at the walls for escape. “It was…”

“Just a dream, Booker.”

Robert kissed him lightly, and for a moment, Booker felt the tension draining from his body. Robert was real, right in front of him. Tangible. Pulling Robert into his lap, Booker continued to kiss him, feeling a daring flutter of joy at a soft _giggle_ he earned from Robert. Baring his throat, Robert leaned back in his lap and Booker nipped at pale, freckled skin, reveling for just a moment in wringing desperate gasps from Robert. The anxiety brought from the nightmare ebbed away as Robert’s hand found his cock, stroking it haltingly between the two of them.

Gasping as Booker kneaded the sore flesh of his ass, Robert, rocked in Booker’s lap, eager for a second round. “Mmmm… oh… please… I don’t want this to stop…”

Booker chuckled low in his throat, gently fingering Robert’s ass. Squirming, Robert continued to stroke his cock and dot Booker’s face with kisses. There was something heady about taking a _proper gentleman_ like Robert and making him completely lose himself to lust.

“Ain’t gotta stop, Bobby. Could do this to you for a long time,” Booker groaned, sucking a bruise into the nape of Robert’s neck.

Robert’s hand slowed on Booker’s erection; in fact, Robert stopped moving entirely, looking down to Booker in deep thought. For a moment, Booker thought he might have gone too far, or maybe Robert had other responsibilities that kept him from sticking around. The latter was more likely. An impoverished, indebted detective with no prospects was a _toy_ for someone like Robert, someone who could afford to drop a large sum of money to entertain his pet a few weeks until he could be safely abandoned.

“Booker, come back,” Robert whispered. His free hand caressed Booker’s face and brought Booker back from the edge of plummeting into his self-loathing again. “I could see it in your face. You were miles away.”

“It’s not right to think in the morning, Bobby. Brain’s not awake yet.” Booker joked, hoping to defer the conversation from his fears by kissing his proper gentleman again. However, Robert did not seize the bait and instead took his face in both hands.

“Booker, I am going to propose something to you. Something I hope you will agree to.” Pausing too briefly for Booker to object, Robert pressed on. “I want you to come live with me.”

Booker nearly dropped Robert on his ass. He shook his head, not in rejection, but stark confusion. “Wait, live with- I thought-, I mean… I ain’t some kept _boy_ for you to play with-mmph.”

Robert kissed him and backed off Booker’s lap, getting to his feet and smiling, all white teeth and manic glee that had Booker reeling. He darted around and picked up their clothing, a burst of energy taking him all around the room while Booker sank on the bed’s edge, still naked, wondering what was happening around him.

“No, it’ll work, you won’t be a kept man, Booker, but you’ll be… I don’t know-no, I do! I do know! The neighbors will talk a bit but who cares, they’re all idiots…” Robert babbled, not even getting dressed, just _moving_ , tapping his lips and twitching his fingers excitedly. “We can say you’re courting my sister. A sweet widower needing a proper lady to mother his infant daughter – Good Lord, Rosalind might _actually_ end me, but I don’t care!”

Robert’s buzzing had him turned around to Booker, pulling on his hands and getting him to his feet so they could see eye to eye. “You’re being quiet.” He pouted, fishing for a kiss, which Booker gave him with a numb mouth.

“Bobby… do you really want me around?” Booker asked when he found his voice. “I’m not the most fortunate man… I’ve owe money-“

“So?”

Booker took Robert by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. The mercurial energy Robert had burning away seemed to tingle under his skin, and Booker’s fingers were cold by comparison. He took a deep breath and sat down, still too overwhelmed by Robert’s proposal.

“No, I can’t. I’m not the kind of man you want around, even if-“

“Booker.” Robert crouched in front of him, arms wrapping around Booker’s legs as he sat. “I really have no mind for the cares of my peers. I have… traveled enough, to understand that class and standing are without meaning to me. I don’t think less of you because you may live a life of poverty, but I am offering you – and by extension, your daughter – the chance to escape. If you’ll stay with me.”

Booker shook his head, grazing the peak of Robert’s cheekbone with the tip of his finger. “For how long? Until the novelty wears off? Until you find you really want a woman to carry on your legacy? When you’re not satisfied raising another man’s child? What then, Bobby?”

Looking wounded, Robert got to his feet and turned away. “You’re going to doubt my affections, then?”

“Affect- Bobby, I’m not the kind of person you keep around long term. I ain’t that kind of lucky. You’re a good man, I’m just-“

“A scoundrel? A drunk? A lost soul? Is that what you wish me to think of you? That I cannot love someone born below my station?” Robert barked, incensed and insulted all at once, but still hurt. The waver in his voice conveyed that quite well to Booker. “Because I. Do not. Care. About all that.”

Booker closed his eyes and lowered his head. A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his face. “You can’t possibly love me. You don’t really know what kind of man I am.”

Robert picked up Booker’s head by his jaw and made him look up. Robert’s eyes were wet as well; Booker braced for a rescinding of his offer – Booker had surely crossed a line somewhere, had stopped being entertaining. This was _it._

“I know that you brought back the excess of money I gifted to you. It’s in your coat. I know it’s short, but by so little, so that you must have used it towards only what was necessary. Excluding what you spent last night.” Robert stroked over Booker’s lips with one thumb, and over his cheek to rub away the tears. “You may be a damaged man, my dear, but that does not mean you’re a bad one.”

“When you said… last night…” Booker’s words came out in a shaky breath. He could hardly believe Robert really wanted something solid, something beyond sex.

“I do wish to keep you with me, if you’ll have me.” Robert climbed into Booker’s lap again, kissing his face. Without words, every kiss felt like a plea to accept his offer.

“Can I think about it? You just… mmm… you hit me with this pretty hard.” It felt like a concession, but he needed the time. If anything, to find out more about Robert and his sister, if he could find anything. They did not even know each other’s surnames. Robert just found out he had a daughter and _seemed_ accepting, but what modern gentleman wanted to be saddled with another man’s progeny?

“I will give you time to think,” Robert promised. He gave Booker another kiss, and then slipped off his lap to dress. “But I do hope you will take me up on the offer. Even if not for yourself…”

“Wage my daughter against my decisions and this is the last you’ll see of me, Robert,” Booker snapped. No matter how indebted he might be, he did not like that Robert used Anna as a weight against him. It made that sick feeling from his nightmare come back to him. As he stooped to pick up his trousers, another monstrous voice snapped at him from dark places behind his eyes.

_Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt!_

“Booker?” Robert had him by the shoulders and helped to steady him. “Booker, you’re bleeding…”

Feeling a handkerchief being held up to his nose, Booker could make out a note of fear in Robert’s voice. Booker dabbed the fine cotton under his nose, looking at the smear and trying to remember if he had been struck in the face at any point.

“I think I’m okay…” he hedged, but judging by the look Robert gave him, Booker wondered if he might be sick. “I’m not dying, Bobby. I’ve had worse.” He could afford a physician now, but what he could not afford was bad news… it made Robert’s proposal for insuring Anna’s future all the more tempting, if he was ill…

Robert worried his bottom lip for a moment before he nodded. “O-f course, Booker. You just… worried me…,” he said, backing away from Booker while he finished dressing.

  


Once they were both cleaned up and dressed again, Booker bid Robert good day on the receiving end of a deep kiss and a reminder to consider what Robert offered him. While Booker greatly disliked being seen as a charity case or a bought man, Robert did his best to assure him that he really liked Booker’s company, not just the sex.

What, exactly, Robert meant by that was beyond Booker. They had spent two evenings together, barely speaking, mostly intoxicated, fucking like animals.

_Two evenings with Robert_ _ **Lutece**_ _,_ Booker reminded himself, pulling a card from the inner pocket of his waistcoat. He examined the neatly printed “R. Lutece – Science, Engineering, Quantum Physics, Mechanics. Professor and Technician for hire.”

“ _Take this, Booker, so that you may find me when you’ve made your decision. Whatever you choose, I am glad to have found you.”_ Robert’s voice repeated in his head.

The last bit amused Booker as he tucked the card away again, wondering just who would be hiring a scientist off the cuff as Robert’s card suggested? On its opposite was his home address; Booker reasoned he might prefer informal home visits than being stuck in a lab with the same stodgy old men Robert had come to loathe.

Which brought up the proposal once more. Robert had mentioned making a story of courting Robert’s sister, for all the reasons that it would look proper to nosy neighbors and keep suspicions about Booker’s liasions to a minimum. He also wondered what she was like… was she as her brother? All still waters running deeply? Robert did not look like much on the outside: quiet, contemplative, aloof… but in private, at least with Booker, he came alive, all passionate action and consuming fire.

Loosening the collar of his shirt, Booker reminded himself that he was still walking home. Best not to think of how he fucked Robert the night before; his “proper gentleman” riding his cock slowly, back arched, making a show of himself for Booker and moaning his name…

“Shit…” Booker ducked into a side street and covered his face. What was wrong with him, losing control of himself like that? He rarely had such a problem with women, or even the few other men he had been with before Robert. Then again, rough hands and sore throats were less appealing than the way Robert lit Booker’s spirit – not just the sex, there was something more to it. Something in the way Robert looked at him, kissed him, even that morning… Soothing away Booker’s anxiety as if he had known how the whole time.

Booker rubbed at his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the sharp morning air and the scent of the alleyway. It brought him back to the present, where he was sorely needed. If he were to take up Robert’s proposal, he needed to discuss it with Daisy. He had no intentions of abandoning her, not while she was the only nanny Anna had ever known. Robert and his sister would have to comply or the deal was off – if Daisy agreed, too.

  


“You _what?!_ ” Rosalind exclaimed, nearly dropping the flask she was holding over a burner. She set the tube aside and turned off the flame, rounding on her brother. “You proposed that DeWitt pretend to be courting _me_ just so you can sleep with him!?”

Robert held up his hands in defense, backing away from his twin. “Now, my dearest sister-”

“Your only sister.”

“Only in this universe...”

“Do not get _cheeky_ with me, Robert.”

Smoothing down his tie, Robert decided it best to press on and state his case to Rosalind. “It’s not cheek, it’s logic. If you would kindly calm yourself and listen, I will explain.”

Gesturing for him to continue, Rosalind folded her arms across her chest and stared daggers into Robert, her lips pursed into a small speck on her face. Merely raising her eyebrows, she allowed the slightest nod of her head as a gesture for Robert to get on with his idea.

“Thank you.” Clearing his throat, Robert, folded his hands behind his back. “As you are aware, the social mores of this universe present a difficulty in two men sharing a domicile. While it is not beyond unusual for two close friends of any gender, those of which are not wed, to live with one another-”

“Get on with it,” Rosalind interrupted, her patience wearing thin by the snap of her voice.

Pouting briefly, Robert carried on. “The point is, two men living with a young woman, especially if he insists on bringing along Miss Fitzroy into the picture, would paint a rather dreary picture of what we are doing. Suffice it to say, the gossip would surround Booker and I having our way-”

“You’re dancing around the issue.” Rosalind took a step forward and placed her hands on Robert’s shoulders. Robert swallowed, unnerved by the chilled smile Rosalind gave him.

“You’re afraid to be arrested for _indecency._ Do not think of me as a fool, my brother. I grew up in the same exact era that you did, and find the laws regarding sexuality to be just as trifling as you do. Especially since we have seen the world evolve far beyond that, together.” Smoothing down Robert’s vest, her smile warmed up. “It is the very same men who would condemn us both for our differences.”

Releasing a held breath, Robert took Rosalind’s hands in his own, looking into his sister’s eyes. “So, you are _not_ angry with me?”

“Of course not.” Rosalind pulled her hands away and turned back to the table where her work sat, now neglected. “Perhaps more surprised that you wish to stay with him so soon. Surely, the sex wasn’t _that_ good?”

Flushing red, Robert’s ears burned and he turned away, coughing into his hand. “It is not merely the result of a few... dalliances. I have spent more time with him...”

“You spent time with many versions of him, yes. Both as Comstock and as himself. Which one interested you more, brother?”

Scowling, Robert turned back to Rosalind, whose face had gone stony again with her question.

“Booker. Always Booker.”

“It’s not merely guilt, is it? You were the one who shattered his spirit by taking the child from him.”

“It wasn’t...” Robert loosened his tie, the silk material feeling like a noose upon reflection of a darker time. “Guilt was what drove me to pursue our goal of returning the girl. Watching a man’s heart break when backed into a corner, when he thinks he can no longer provide for her because his self loathing has driven him to the edge... I am of the mind that had we not returned to unmake our sins, Booker DeWitt would have died by his own hand.”

“He did, if you recall. Many times when we were too late. Only once when killing the Prophet.” Rosalind picked up her flask to examine it. The substance inside had turned a dull green color, thick as tar. “But should you really mistake **pity** for love?”

“What I have seen in him is hope. When his mind is no longer mired in his own misery, he is... manageable. I do not doubt that repairing his self-inflicted wounds will take a long time, if they can be healed at all, but... is it so wrong to help him dull the pain? Without letting him literally drown his sorrows?”

Disposing of her lost experiment, Rosalind sighed and occupied herself by the lab sink, washing out the flask and her hands shortly after. “Does it always have to be you? Can we not simply point him to someone else?” Turning to dry her hands, Rosalind added, “Someone clearly not associated with the church.”

“Rosalind... if does not _have_ to be me. You could-”

“No. I will not be able to look past the hatred buried in his heart. Even if the girl stopped every Comstock to ever exist, the _makings_ of him are still there. All it would take is just the right amount of desperation-”

Robert swept forward and clasped Rosalind’s hands in his own, nearly begging for her side as he spoke. “Every man – and woman – has the makings of something terrible, sister. Including you and I. But he could also be great.”

Rosalind sighed and closed her eyes to Robert’s pleading stare. Turning her head, she looked to a blank wall and murmured, “Will you settle for mediocrity?” she asked conceding to Robert’s request.

Diving in to kiss her exposed cheek, Robert’s smile could be felt against her skin. “You are an angel, my sister.”

“My brother, that title belongs to you.” Rosalind looked back up to him, squeezing his hands in warning. “If I see one thread of Comstock’s presence-”

“-I will help you end him. I promise you that. I do not wish the Prophet on the world any more than you do.” Robert released Rosalind’s hands and took a step back, straightening out his tie once more, the knot against his collar. “For now, we should-”

Rosalind snatched a pair of iron tongs from the lab table and pointed them at Robert.

“ _You_ will prepare the house to accept him. This whole thing is both your idea and fault. I will receive him when I am ready, when I have braced myself to be seen as his _fiancé_ _e_ _._ ” Rosalind’s shoulders slumped. “I find myself fortunate that he lacks respectably feminine friends. I do not think I could take a lady’s tea and all that ‘proper husband’ nonsense I would hear from them.”

Robert chuckled and pushed down the tongs to a safe area (away from his nose, in particular). “Fortunate, as well, that he’s not a proper gentleman, either. I don’t think I would last long in some cigar den with a snifter in my hand.”

“You’re terrible at holding your liquor. Which is what I am blaming this nonsense on until I see real effort from DeWitt on his own healing.”

Frowning, Robert tilted his head and leaned nearer to Rosalind. “Whatever do you mean?”

With a sigh, Rosalind put her tools away and closed her notebook. “What I mean to say is that I will not simply take your word for it on his behavior. He may be affectionate in a coital state, but until I see some hard evidence that he cares equally for _you_ as you for him...”

Robert nodded in understanding. “Then, you will no longer play your part. What of the girl?”

“Anna can return with her father-”

“Would you see her educated?”

“At this point, I’d love to see an infant reading,” Rosalind taunted. “But, of course I would.” She turned and pinched Robert’s side while his guard fell. “Damn you, for baiting me with her. You know motherhood isn’t-”

“No, I don’t mean for you to genuinely mother the child. I can do that,” Robert allowed himself a smile as he rubbed his sore side. “But I do mean to have _two_ intelligent women in the family. If not by adoption through marriage, perhaps by education through mentoring? Certainly, you would have benefited from a role model like yours- Ow!”

Rosalind stopped Robert from talking by pulling on his ear like she would when scolding a bold child.

“Now that _is_ playing dirty, dear Robert. You needn’t lay on the charm so thickly. I’ve already agreed to this little experiment of yours, but I will not disregard the very real possibility that DeWitt may only be using you, as you seem to have ignored.”

Pulling himself free, Robert now rubbed at his ear, pouting again. “I have thought of that... I still have hope, Rosalind, that I am enough for him.”

Sighing, Rosalind began to head upstairs to the rest of their home. “For the your sake, Robert, _I_ hope that you are as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YIKES, I did not mean to take four months to update this, but my muse stopped DEAD for all things for a good long while. 
> 
> But here! An update! And *gasp* PLOT! It thickens. :D
> 
> Thank you for your patience and readership.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how far this story will go, because this is a different tone of writing for me. And yes, the boy clinging to Booker is a young Sander Cohen. Other Bioshock characters (outside of Infinite) may make an appearance, depending on how far I go with it.


End file.
